


it can only mean one thing

by godsensei (mydickisthealpha)



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/godsensei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of related AND unrelated drabbles previously posted on tumblr that I thought I'd collect here for... posterity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Office Visit

**Author's Note:**

> All of these drabbles are pretty short, and are mostly requests or just mini-fics I've written on tumblr. I wanted to keep them in one place and if I write a continuation, I'll let you know which is which. 
> 
> So, basically, for this first one-- I only know things mostly from MCU, vague comic memory, and other people’s fanfiction so please be nice. TEAM RED THO.
> 
> Peter visits Matt at the office, and Foggy learns some things.

There’s a quick knock on the office door, followed by the sound of it opening, which brings Foggy’s head up from his spot near the coffee machine. He’s about to start moving, but he hears Matt’s door swinging open, and the soft footsteps Matt makes as he walks. He has a clear view of the door from here, but he continues to rustle around with the coffee pot.

The man at the door can’t be more than 20 years old, by the looks of him. He’s actually rather good looking–objectively speaking– someone he can see Matt associating with, just because Matt is that pretty himself. He’s wearing glasses that seem too large for his face, and his brown hair is sticking out in all directions in a way that suggests he runs his hand through it a lot; it still looks stylish.

What’s surprising to Foggy is the soft smile on Matt’s face, the barely there uptick of his lips that he seems to only reserve for people he knows or cares for in some way. He’s personally never seen the kid here before, but Matty’s always been secretive and this might have something to do with all his vigilante crap.

The office is so quiet (dead and Karen is sick, Foggy reminds himself miserably) that he can hear their lowered voices. He slurps noisily at his coffee, just to give off the pretense of not listening, although whether Matt will see through it or not, he doesn’t know.

“Sorry for coming to your place of work. I debated on it for a while, but Wade said he would come here if I didn’t, and that’s not happening, so here I am,” hot college kid rambles, somewhat, and he swings the backpack he’s had on around front of him so he can dig through it. “Here.”

Foggy tilts forward to see the item better. Yeah, that’s definitely some clothes. Maybe it’s an extra for when he changes in and out of his Daredevil suit? That would mean Matty knows this kid personally enough that he trusts him, that asshole– he hasn’t ever mentioned him.

“Thanks, Peter,” Matt says, quietly, and his hand brushes this Peter’s hand and– ok. That’s a blush on small Peter’s face.

“It’s no problem. I was hoping your office was empty,” Peter laughs.

“No, my partner is making coffee and probably eavesdropping,” Matt smiles, and Foggy twists his mouth and furrows his brows, leaning against the counter. Now wait just a minute, such baseless accusations…

“Oh, whoops, um… those clothes are definitely not… anything,” Peter finishes lamely, and Foggy wants to pat him on the back to tell him it’s okay, he knows about Daredevil.

“Foggy’s trustworthy. You’re resilient. I don’t mind him knowing,” Matt says, and ok, what the hell? Are the clothes not about Daredevil? Because he already knows about Daredevil.

Peter’s face flushes.

Oh. _Ohhh._

“Even about Wade?”

“Even about Wade.”

Is Matt implying what he thinks Matt is implying?

“Ok,” Peter pauses, and Foggy peeks close to the see again, “Can I kiss you?”

Well, Foggy’ll be damned.

“Please,” Matt suggests.

Peter grins in a way that insinuates his age, grasping Matt’s forearms as Matt curls his fingers around Peter’s elbows. Peter presses closer, lingering just a moment, before brushing his lips against Matt’s.

Matt bends down to meet him, which takes Peter by surprise, because he has to readjust his grip, melting into the kiss in a manner that proposes he likes it when Matt takes control. Or maybe Foggy is projecting, but Matty looks surprisingly in his element for such a nerd. It’s also surprisingly fierce kiss on Matt’s part, and the lawyer moves one hand up to hold Peter by the jaw, stroking his thumb along his cheek.

“N-nice,” Peter says, and Matt lefts out a soft exhale of a laugh.

“Thanks for keeping Wade from coming to the office. Please continue to do so, if you don’t mind. Not that I don’t want to see him, it’s just, he might scare any potential clients who’ve been through trauma.”

“Right, _boundaries_.” Peter nods.

Foggy can’t believe any of this is happening. Catholic, _my ass_ , Matt Murdock!

Matt leans forward and whispers something into Peter’s ear that has him turning red again and Karen is going to be so mad she missed this.

Peter pecks him on the lips again, and backs away, giving him a boyish smile before turning to leave the office.

Foggy walks out with his eyes narrowed.

“Matty, you got some ‘splainin to do!”


	2. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr request by ameliathermopolis: #spideypool with number 9 (things you said when i was crying) - the "i" is peter and the "you" is wade.

Most times, Peter can handle his job. His alternate job– his life outside of life, the one hidden behind a thin layer of cloth. He’s seen a lot of people die, and although he doesn’t want to give in to the thought, death is always going to be part of his life.

Tonight, though– tonight, Peter couldn’t save a child. A small, helpless little girl who had screamed out for him and he’d been an inch, a second, a breath too late. He’d stopped cold, frozen with his hand extended like a wax figure in a museum, unable to process her death. Although the frenzy of police sirens and a crumbling building were roaring all around him, everything seemed to silence.

A wave of anguish, then consuming anger overtook him and he’d lost himself in violence he thought he could detach himself from. It took Natasha and Steve to rip him away from the villain who’d caused the chaos– who caused that death– and it still didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to rip him apart and show him what pain felt like.

Now, sitting alone in his apartment, all he feels is regret and sorrow. Almost killing a man for another person’s death wouldn’t have done anything, and he’d almost given in to that animalistic rage– much like the one he’d felt when Uncle Ben passed.

He let that little girl die, and suddenly, all the responsibility of this life feels too much– too heavy a burden. He’s been doing this since he was fifteen and it’s too much.

Peter rips his mask off and throws it to the ground, covering his eyes with his hands. He feels like he can’t breathe and he bites his lips to keep them from trembling. It’s no use in holding it back, he knows he can’t.

Fat, warm tears spill over his lashes, falling down his cheeks in rapid succession. The moment he tastes the salt of them, he loses it, hunching over his legs and sobbing like he did when he was a small boy. His fingers dig into his hair, and his throat burns as the desperation pulls noise from him, unbidden.

“I like to cha-cha, in a little Pete, yeah– oh,” Peter hears at his open window and he looks up, tears still slipping down his face.

Wade is slowly crossing the threshold of his window sill, as if all the wind in his sails have been taken away.

“Peter,” he says, softly, so very gently that Peter’s face crumples under that caution and he covers his face, not wanting Wade to see this ugly, vulnerable side of him.

“Hey, baby boy, it’s okay,” Wade coos, sliding onto the couch to sit beside him.

“It’s not okay– you don’t even kn-know what’s wrong,” Peter snaps, wiping at his tears angrily as he hiccups. His face is red, eyes puffy and nose running.

“Sure, but… you’re still breathing, and the world is still turning. Plus, I’m here,” Wade jokes, and Peter narrows his eyes at him. “Tell me what happened.”

Peter hesitates, not sure if he should say… Wade usually makes him laugh, but this is… this is important and serious. He doesn’t know if he can handle Wade making this a joke. He sighs, hiccuping again.

“I– I let a little girl die tonight. I wasn’t fast enough to– I wasn’t fast enough,” Peter says, feeling the tears well up again. The more he thinks of her face, the more he wants to disappear. “I let her die, Wade. She’s dead because of me.”

He folds into himself again with the weight of it, trying to get the terror in her eyes out of his mind. Wade is silent for a while, which is weird for him, until Peter feels a hand against his back. It moves in small, soothing circles.

“Peter,” Wade starts, but pauses like he’s thinking of what to say, “you’ve lost a lot of people– you’re gonna lose a lot more–”

Peter’s head whips up, face stricken at Wade’s words, but Wade continues, looking him in the eye.

“–but you keep fighting. You’ve been fighting for everything you think is right for a long time and you’ve saved a shit ton more lives than you’ve lost. People die, Petey. Naturally, unnaturally–it happens every day. Your uncle taught you to be the type of man who takes responsibility and even now, you’re doing that. Even though people die everyday, you still care about it.”

Wade reaches up, wiping a tear trying to fall down his face. He keeps his hand there, using his thumb to caress Peter’s cheek.

“You have a choice to use what you have for good, or to live a normal life– you chose to be a hero. That little girl is gone because someone else chose to be a villain. Many other children’s lives were spared tonight because of your choice to keep fighting.”

Peter closes his eyes, Wade’s words lessening the constriction of his lungs, his tears slowing.

“You also chose really tight spandex for your suit; thank you for doing the Lord’s work,” Wade says, and Peter lets out a watery giggle, opening his eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling and pulling Wade in for a hug. Wade seems surprised by it, but lets his hands fall onto Peter’s back, hugging back. They sit there for a while, and Peter feels lighter with his head on Wade’s shoulder.

Then Wade’s hands move towards his ass.

“You have the _choice_ to keep your hands or lose them for a while.”


	3. #hammered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr request by route-29: 11 (things you said when you were drunk), spideypool.

Peter hasn’t been able to get drunk in quite some time. It’s pissed him off more than a few times that his body heals too quickly for alcohol to do anything for him. Sometimes, a man just wants to get drunk.

Right now? He’s _hammered_.

Haha, hammered, because Thor had brought alcohol from Asgard. And he has a hammer. Mjolnir. Mjolfar. Mjolwhereveryouare.

He giggles, throwing back another shot of whatever the shit this shit is. It’s fucking amazing. Life’s amazing. Captain America is right there and he’s right across from him.

“Ooohhh say can’t you seeeeee, by the dawn’s early liiiiight,” he slurs, off pitch and loud, laughing when Steve furrows his brows at him. Natasha is holding a hand over her mouth, probably because she’s so beautiful and she doesn’t want to murder everyone with her pretty face. Or her thighs. Which he’s seen happen, it was a very educational outing and he’s been trying not to get on her bad side ever since.

“You could probably murder me with your pinky,” he tries to say, but it actually comes out as, “Your pinky is murder.”

Natasha loses it, slapping Barton’s chest as she laughs. Clint grins, taking a sip of his own drink. Man, that guy’s chill.

“Maybe I should cut him off,” Steve says, looking worried.

“No, no– please don’t cut him off. I want to see more of this,” Tony says, phone pointed at Peter.

“Tony,” Pepper warns, heels clicking as she walks over, “stop filming this.”

“Yeah, Tony, stop doing that thing,” Peter says, pursing his lips and wagging his finger like an old-time school teacher. Pepper shakes her head in sympathy.

“Can I take some of this home with me?” Peter asks, suddenly sitting straight up.

“But of course,” Thor says, voice booming, “there’s plenty to go around.”

“Thanks, Thor– let’s hug. You have the best hugs,” Peter says and Thor grabs him up off the ground and squeezes him tightly.

“Should we let him leave like that?” Steve asks.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Tony comments, thumbs moving quickly on his phone’s screen.

Peter waves goodbye to all his friends, Asgardian drink tucked into his backpack. He drops straight out of the window and falls for a bit before realizing that he has to use his webbing. He ends up shooting a web into the air, hitting a building ledge, and slowly riding the web to the ground.

“Maybe I should take a cab,” Peter says to himself, and so he does. Except he doesn’t go home. He goes to Wade’s, because Wade can’t get drunk either and Peter feels like he should be able to– because his life really sucks.

“Your life sucks,” Peter says when Wade answers the door.

“Boy, don’t I know it!” Wade greets happily, letting him.

Peter immediately trips over his couch and lands on the cushions.

“Wow, thanks,” he says to the couch.

“…,” the couch replies.

Peter struggles to turn onto his back, and collapses against the cushions again when he finally makes it. There’s a stain on Wade’s ceiling in the shape of cat. It’s like modern art. He gets lost on that thought for a while until Wade’s face appears above him, maskless.

“Dude, your ceiling is a canvas,” Peter slurs and Wade cracks a wide grin.

“Why, Petey, I do believe you’re drunk,” he says.

“I’m, pfft, what? I’m not– why would I even be… in that state? I’m– I have too many, you know, midichlorians to get drunk. Maybe you’re drunk,” Peter says, eyes wide and accusing. 

“Well, I guess I was mistaken. May the force be with you,” Wade replies, putting his chin on his hand as he looks down at him. Peter blinks, taking him in. He’s having a good night tonight, not as many marks on his face, eyes twinkling with life. It makes Peter happy, so he smiles dopily. “White says you’re a jackass.”

“You have beautiful eyes,” he says, blithely, opting to ignore White because White can stick it. Nothing can bring him down tonight.

“Hmm, not something I’ve heard before, but I’ll take it,” Wade comments.

“You can take me,” Peter announces, flinging his head back dramatically and throwing his legs apart.

“Ohhhh boy.”

“What,” Peter says suddenly, sitting up so fast Wade barely avoids impact to his jaw, “if we got married??”

“Ohhhhhhh boy.”

“Pete-a-licious, definition, makin’ Wade go loco– he want my treasure, so he takes his pleasure from my taco–”

“Petey, babe, I’m not sure if I should let you go on like this. You sound like me on a good night. That usually doesn’t bode well for anyone, including myself–”

Peter puts his fingers on Wade’s lips, shushing him.

“No, shh, don’t say anything like that– you’re so good, don’t think like that. You should kiss me,” he says, getting up on his knees and reaching for Wade over the couch. Wade backs away, holding his hands up.

“Definitely a bad idea,” Wade says, then, “Shut up, I know it’s our only opportunity, but he’s drunk. He wouldn’t do this otherwise.”

“Oh my god, yes I _would_. I totally would– we have _chemistry_. Like, like– are you a carbon sample, ‘cause I wanna _date_ you.” He does finger guns to make the line sexier.

Wade puts a hand over his mouth and stares at Peter for a while.

“Oh, look!” Peter shoves his bookbag off, pulling out the bottle he’d gotten from Thor. “I brought you some.”

“Is this what got you so plastered? What’s in this stuff?” Wade opens it and sniffs. “Oooh, okay. Asgardian mead. I have a lot of blank memories thanks to this drink.”

“Hey, why don’t youuuu put your face on my face?” Peter asks, pointing at his lips and Wade laughs.

“Spidey-kid, you’re gonna be the death of me. And then probably 10 more deaths of me.”

Suddenly, Peter is being lifted into the air!! He can fly! Oop, but wait, that is Wade’s ass in sight. He’s gonna touch that ass.

Except his arms aren’t cooperating and now they’re moving. Wow, Wade is built– he’s noticed before, like, you know, _objectively_ checking him out, but being carried over Wade’s shoulder is a whole 'nother experience. His back muscles are riddikulus.

“I be up in the gym just working on my fitness,” Wade sings, completing Peter’s beautiful song from before. They are truly soulmates.

Why hasn’t he ever told Wade he, like, loves him? Like really, really loves him? Wade has a nice face and a surprisingly nice heart and man, Peter loves having him around.

“God, stop _talking_ ,” Wade stresses, smacking his ass as they move into a bedroom.

A bed!! With Wade!! Yes!

“Nope, you’re gonna sit here and wait for me to get you some water, and then you’re gonna sleep. Then we will talk in the morning.”

Yes!! Sleeping with Wade!!

“No, I sleep on the couch. You sleep here. Stay.”

Wade disappears and Peter blanks, staring into space. Wade appears again.

“Gosh that was fast.”

“Okay, baby, drink this,” he hands Peter a glass of water and Peter obeys, his stomach feeling sloshy and full.

“I been drankin’, I been drankin’– SURFBORT,” Peter furrows his brows, mimicking waves with his hands.

“The Daily Bugle was right–you’re a menace,” Wade says fondly, pulling the covers out from under Peter and throwing them over him instead. Peter wiggles under the blankets, trying to get comfortable.

“Oh, wow, look at all this room on the bed? It’d be a shame if someone… slept in it with me.”

“You’re so drunk. Go to sleep.”

“It’s like you’re not even trying to tap this, Wade.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“If I go to sleep, will you tap this later?”

“Maybe.”

Peter narrows his eyes at Wade, searching his face before he sighs, head flopping back on the pillow.

Everything is nice and lovely and warm– and Wade is here and he might sex him up later, which is really cool. It’s almost like he could fall asleep…


	4. KISS KISS KISS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASKED BY GERSHWINPALMERCECIL  
> Mini fic ask thingie; spideypool+ 14 (things you said after you kissed me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> v short but idc it's v cute

Wade’s not quite sure he heard what Peter said right because there are three voices in his head shouting at him. All of which are informing him that Peter just kissed him. On the lips. Maybe not as a joke.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service or has been disconnected. Please check the number and try again,” he says, and Peter huffs out a laugh, caressing his face gently and looking at him like… well, no one’s looked at him like that before. Like he placed the fucking stars in the sky or isn’t Wade Wilson.

“I said, ‘I’m in love with you’,” Peter repeats, patient and utterly serious.

Wade looks up to the side, processing.

“It sounded like you said, 'I’m in love with you’, but it just as easily could’ve been, 'I’m a bug dude’. Which you are,” Wade says, blinking down at Peter.

“Nope. I’m sure it was the first thing,” Peter assures, like it’s not shattering Wade’s entire world into tiny little splinters, like he hasn’t just lost his footing (which wasn’t that stable to begin with), like his chest isn’t being stabbed to death with pointy little cupid’s bows.

“I’m gonna need a source,” Wade squints, and Peter rolls his eyes and pushes back up onto his tiptoes, catching Wade’s mouth in the second kiss of the night. His boxes are making 90s dial-up noises, but when Peter swips his tongue across his bottom lip, everything boots up pretty quickly. His hands slide up Peter’s sides and then down his back, coming to rest on his hips as he opens his mouth to let Peter in. They kiss slowly, like they’re taking their time figuring the other out.

Peter shifts back, smiling up at him.

“Does that work?” he asks, the cheeky asshole.

“I don’t know, I think I might need you to do that again,” Wade drawls, hands coming up to hold his face, thumbs swiping across his prominent cheek bones.

“We’re sorry, the number you have dialed–”

The next few kisses are even better.


	5. whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASKED BY ANONYMOUS  
> hii, can I request 3 (things you said too quietly) w "you" as wade and "I" as Peter? thanks :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also v short but does it seem like igaf?????? it does? ok, that's true.

Wade’s always saying things under his breath. He’s always done that, for as long as Peter’s known him, and he’s always equated it to Wade talking to his boxes. He’s always talking about and to his boxes, and so Peter doesn’t really think much of it– until he does.

It’s when they’re sleeping that Peter notices what’s actually going on. Well, Peter is supposed to be sleeping and Wade thinks he’s asleep. They’re pressed together under warm covers, the morning sunlight sifting in through the curtains. It’s comfortable and Peter feels like he could be like this for a long time.

He can feel Wade’s fingers gently touching the skin on his back, not enough that it should wake him, but for Wade’s benefit. Wade kisses his shoulder softly, holds his lips there and then whispers against his skin.

“I don’t want to live without you.”

If Peter hadn’t been listening intently, he might’ve missed it, but he hears it clearly and it makes his heart skip.

“I’m scared of you.”

He’s breathing confessions onto Peter’s flesh, and the words tattoo themselves in his mind. He wants to turn over, to tell him that he doesn’t have to live without him, that he shouldn’t be scared, but he can’t promise that. Wade doesn’t die, and Peter can. They both live dangerous lives and Peter can’t make a promise he knows he can’t keep. Eventually, one day, he’ll leave Wade alone in this world.

The panic he feels at the thought knocks the breath out of him, and he shifts, playing it off by stretching.

“Good morning, babe,” Wade says, as if everything’s normal and Peter blinks his eyes open, smiling at Wade softly.

“G'morning,” he says, and crawls on top of Wade, simply letting their skin touch. He rests his chin on Wade’s chest, his ever-beating heart pattering a rhythm just underneath.


	6. late at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ASKED BY EACHOFUSAGALAXY  
> Hello! Can I ask for a spideypool #1 (things you said at 1 am) please?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requests are always open! hmu @ godsensei

“If your name’s Peter-uh Parker and you get off with-uh Wade,” Wade sings through his mask, despite that fact that he’s only dressed in boxers and socks. He’s cleaning some weapons, pieces of disassembled gun lying on the floor around him. Peter has his calves perched on his shoulders from behind, trying to focus on the laptop on his stomach.

“If you’re not into Yoda, then get out of my way– IF YOU LIKE MAKING LOVE AT MIDNIGHT on the fire escape… I’m the love that you’ve looked for, and I’ve got a nice shape.”

Peter blinks at the clock, trying to focus on the numbers after staring a bit too long at the screen. He rubs his eyes, sliding his feet down to the middle of Wade’s back. Wade arches a bit.

“Ah, cold toes!” He drops a piece of his gun and mutters to himself.

“It’s 1am. Don’t you think we should go to bed?” Peter asks, sitting up (moving his laptop away) and scooting forward, putting his legs on either side of Wade’s and resting his cheek against his back. The muscles flex under Wade’s skin as he reaches for more pieces, reassembling one of his weapons.

“But mom!” Wade says, clicking the last part into place and setting the gun to the side, starting on another.

“Waaaade,” Peter whines, butting his head against Wade’s shoulder blade.

“Justice never sleeps, baby,” Wade answers. “Yellow wants you to touch our butt.”

Peter squeezes one of his ass cheeks and Wade makes a mock high-pitched noise.

“Mr. Parker, why I never!”

“I’m tired and I’m going to sleep,” Peter says, closing his eyes where he sits.

“Right there?” Wade asks, but Peter doesn’t answer. “Aren’t we supposed to get all introspective at this point in the sleepover? You’re a party pooper, Petey.”

“Mm,” Peter says in reply, turning his head to press a kiss to Wade’s spine, sliding his calloused hands up Wade’s abs to grope at his pectorals.

“Handsy,” Wade comments, caressing Peter’s thighs.

“Nghh, okay, I have to work tomorrow,” Peter reasons, crab walking towards his laptop. Wade turns and grabs his ankles, pulling him suddenly underneath him. Wade lifts his mask at the mouth and blows a raspberry on his stomach and Peter giggles, pushing his face away.

“Don’t you wanna Fanta?” Wade wiggles his brow line and Peter huffs.

“Nooouuuhhh?” Peter draws out as Wade rubs himself against Peter’s thigh. “Fuck, shit.”

“Your language is colorful and extensive,” Wade says as he gyrates and Peter gives in.

They get off nice and slow, with rolling hips and roaming hands, messy, wet kisses and heavy sighs. Peter feels sluggish and flushed afterwards, falling asleep against Wade’s chest as he chatters incessantly about Bea Arthur.


	7. come (and get your love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is a position that's featured heavily in some of my tamer dreams," Wade says into the silence. Peter closes his eyes. 
> 
> "Please stop talking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song prompt fill for bcnhills. the song was 'come and get your love' by redbone, which is arguably one of the best songs in existence.

 

Peter has a Problem.

Well, alright, Peter _always_ has a problem. This problem, ehhh-- it's not typical for him?

See, here's the thing. Peter is a nerd. He has always been a nerd, and probably always will be nerdy. It's something he's come to accept as graciously as possible. _Kinda_.

Since he's a nerd, and those he associates with have always told him how the nerd seems to be tattooed on his forehead for everyone to see, he's always found it a bit difficult... to be in a relationship? To start a relationship. To flirt?? He's always had a hard time in the love department-- relationship department. Alright, fuck, he's a hopeless cause when it comes to people and he cries about it a little at night. S'nothing, really.

The problem right now?? He wants someone-- to _be_ with someone. Physically and romantically. It's mortifying, and several types of terrifying. Plus, it would never work! He's got too much on his plate to worry about how hard he is when he wakes up from a particularly good dream about this someone. He can't keep daydreaming about romantic, domestic shit in the middle of a fight, because logically, the chances of this relationship ever coming to fruition are slim to none. Also, he usually gets his ass kicked when he does that.

Being with Wade Wilson will never happen, is what he's always thought. It's probably just as well, since Wade is... a little problematic, and keeps Peter conflicted at every turn. _Pants_ conflicted, yes, but also morally conflicted.

So, it kinda sucks a little that Peter's even Bigger Problem™ is being crammed into a small space with the very object of his affections.

The space really is ridiculously tiny, just barely big enough to fit both of them inside. It had been a last minute idea from Wade, to shove themselves into this wooden crate so they could sabotage the meeting between two very well known druglords, while also getting evidence of both the shipment and the faces attached to said druglords. Peter might have been able to think of some other way to make it to the meeting, but there had been gunfire and so thinking had been out of the question.

This Bigger Problem™ wouldn't be such a Bigger Problem™ if it weren't for the fact that Peter is #compromised. See, he's somehow been shoved to the bottom of the crate by force of movement, back curving against the hard wooden panel. His head hardly has any room to lean back, so his neck is held at a weird angle, forcing his head towards his chest. Since his back is curved, his ass is perched against one of the sides of the box, his legs bent almost to his chest (and boy is he glad he's flexible). His feet are flat against the top of the box, and even if he pushed, he isn't sure he'd be able to open it with the boxes they'd put on top of it.

The compromise? Wade is literally on top of him. His thick thighs have pinned Peter's arms to his sides, his ass touching the bottom of Peter's chin. The box isn't tall enough for him to sit up, and so he's hunched over between Peter's legs, and his face is so close to Peter's ass that Peter can feel huffs of warm breath against his... sensitive parts... through the fabric of Wade's mask. Wade is holding himself up by gripping the outside of Peter's thighs.

Peter just knows this isn't going to end well.

"This is a position that's featured heavily in some of my tamer dreams," Wade says into the silence. Peter closes his eyes.

"Please stop talking."

"C'moooon, that's like asking the Hulk not to smash. Y'know, now that I think about it, didn't they use the term 'smash' as stand-in for fucking in the hit MTV show _The Jersey Shore_? Not that I watched it when it came on every Thursday at 10 o'clock," Wade says, every breath tickling against Peter's asshole. It's slow, sweet torture.

He needs to think about something else-- anything else, or this Bigger Problem™ will become a Boner Problem™.

"Is the Hulk smashing? Or is he _smashing_?" Wade continues, oblivious to Peter's internal breakdown. "I need to know if the Hulk is DTF."

"Are you speaking gibberish?" Peter asks, mostly so he can focus on something other than Wade's fingers pressing into the flesh of his thighs.

"Y'know, Petey, DTF. Putting some D's in some V's, or A's. F'ing some T's. I only like people who are DTF, but also DTC," Wade elaborates, and Peter can feel his red and black-clad thighs tense and untense around him as he talks. Holy shit, why are they talking about D'ing some A's right now?

"I think the Hulk's all-consuming rage might get in the way of any dicking," Peter says, focusing on the words he's saying-- or trying to, at least.

"I don't know, I think it's kind of a turn-on. Like Shrek on 'roids," Wade says, and Peter can't help but laugh, which is a mistake. His chest bounces, which in turn bounces Wade, whose nose brushes against his balls.

He doesn't even have time to try and not react, because as soon as there's contact, he sucks in a harsh gasp.

"Oops," Wade comments, "I don't usually say this, but sorry for touching your balls."

"It's f- _fine_ ," Peter stutters, fists clenching.

"You okay down there, Spidey? I did have Mexican for lunch today. I have no idea what you're facing right now."

Peter makes a strangled noise he hopes translates to, 'I am fine.'

Then the box lurches, jostling them about, and Wade's face lands directly in the crack of his ass. Peter's spandex does nothing to soften that blow; he can feel the shape of Wade's lips as if he weren't wearing spandex at all.

The jagged moan he lets out when Wade squeezes his ass to push himself up again is completely involuntary. He would call the police on himself if he could.

' _Arrest me officer_ ,' he would say.

' _Why?_ ' the officer would ask.

' _I am a danger to society and also a huge disappointment_ ,' he would confess.

' _How could you do this to Aunt May?'_ the officer would question.

"Uh," Wade says, because his vocabulary is extensive, "correct me if I'm wrong here, Peter, but are you, or are you not turned on right now?"

"You shut-- you-- your face is need to shut up," Peter answers, coherently, because he's in college. They don't generally speak in a real language there, considering the amount of sleep most of the student population gets. Peter's lucky if he can get someone to grunt at him, most times.

"I mean, I can't account for your taste--"

"There is not-- no tasting, there's not-- I don't. And maybe you're-- maybe you have been turned on right now," Peter argues, because he's desperate.

"I'm always turned on. Mostly around you, because I'm pretty sure Jason Derulo wrote the song 'Wiggle' about you, but always turned on. Also, I've never heard you speak like this before, are you having a stroke? Should I CPR your dick?"

The box jostles them again, shaking Peter so that more of his ass lurches into Wade's face. Wade grips his asscheeks, and Peter can feel the spread of them, his chest beginning to heave in response.

"Are you DTF, Peter Parker?" Wade sounds scandalized, but Peter can literally feel him smiling and it's doing all sorts of things to him. Like, giving him an erection sort of thing.

"I am... so embarrassed," Peter says, because he is. Wade was never meant to... ever see Peter like this. He shouldn't even be feeling this way. It's wrong, he's wrong.

Wade is silent for a few moments, before he gives Peter's ass a good squeeze again.

"Why embarrassed, Baby Boy? Hell, nothing the matter with you, it's a natural response to being in such close proximity to all the good bits," Wade explains, wiggling his own ass for good measure. It brushes against Peter's chin.

"Um, I think it has more to do with _you_ being in close proximity to _my_ good bits," Peter says, squeezing his eyes shut at the declaration.

"Huh."

"Uh-huh."

"So... does that mean you're really DTF? With me?"

"Uhhh," Peter says, "yes?"

"Great," Wade says, and Peter hears the distinctive sound of fabric ripping. He feels the warm air against the bare skin of his ass, and freezes.

" _Wade_ ," he chokes out, because this is not what he was expecting. Also, he most certainly does not have a change of uniform with him.

"We can't exactly D some A's right now, but I can totally E your A. It's like I'm Guy Fieri and on this episode on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, I'm exploring a very unique little hole-in-the-wall establishment, specifically catered to my tastes," Wade says, lifting the fabric of his mask to just above his nose. "What'dya say, Spidey? Can I go to work, work, work, work, work, work, work?"

"Are you-- are you asking me if you can eat me out?" Peter wheezes, all of the blood in his body going straight to his dick. Oh boy. "This is... going really fast-- do you actually want to do this?"

"Listen, you're turned on, I'm turned on-- what's the problem?"

"I didn't think that you actually wanted... me," he admits, fingers pressing harshly into the crate. He always thought Wade was joking, seeing as how he's had relationships with other people before. He thought Wade was just trying to rile him up. Sometimes they insult each other, too, and it's all very confusing.

"Hoo, buddy," Wade says, and Peter wishes he could see his face, "did none of my obvious flirting clue you in? Was my delivery off?"

"I just thought-- I mean, I'm not exactly...," Peter trails off, not wanting to admit to any insecurities.

"Not exactly what? Hot enough to split from your former boyband to go Han Solo? You're definitely Zayn levels of hot. Let's get to the Pillowtalk," Wade suggests, and Peter swallows audibly.

"I don't just... I don't just want to--I'm also DTD," Peter says, and Wade stills above him.

"Are you fucking with me?" Wade asks, sounding a tad bit strained.

"Would I, Spider-man, have my bare ass in your face otherwise? I don't just... trust people."

"Hmm, good point-- but you don't trust me. Probably because I enjoy stabbing people too much."

"I trust that you wouldn't hurt me unless I gave you a reason," Peter says, ignoring the stabbing part.

"I don't know, Kid, even if you gave me a reason, it'd be hard to damage such a pretty face," Wade argues, laughing softly. He sounds vulnerable, and Peter sighs.

"Wade, I kinda have cheesy, romantic thoughts about you. _Super_ homoerotic thoughts. How I got to this point, I don't know. Captain America would give me very disappointed eyes about the whole thing."

"Oh," Wade responds.

"Yeah," Peter breathes, trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

"So... Imma go ham on your succulent ass now, Petey. It'll be like making out, which I'd like to do right fucking now, but this fucking box is being a real fucking dick about things," he pauses. "Yes, all fucking three boxes."

"Yeah, whoever had the idea to get in here was a real--," Peter breaks off mid-sentence with a harsh gasp, as Wade spreads his cheeks and licks a warm, wet stripe between them. The first few swipes are experimental, like Wade is tasting him.

Wade hums, shifting his head to the side to suck a few kisses into the sensitive skin of Peter's asscheeks. He squeezes his hands as he readjusts his grip, and Peter tenses his feet against the top of the crate as Wade goes back to using his velvet tongue.

If Peter was turned on before, he's aching hard now, his arms trapped uselessly against his body. Wade takes his time, murmuring sweet things against his skin and pressing dirty, open mouthed kisses against his rim.

"Jesus, Wade," he moans, because Wade's taking him to fucking church, chest heaving as he begins to breathe heavily. His thighs are shaking already, each gentle stroke making him feel more desperate.

"You taste so good, I could do this for hours," Wade says, voice sounding rough, and Peter can feel how hard he is against his abs.

He presses a kiss against his hole a few more times, before circling the rim, tensing his tongue and pressing in.

"Oh, fuck." Peter drops his head back, mouth falling open. The fabric of his mask stretches, hot and moist from all his heavy breathing. Wade's prodding becomes more insistent the more Peter makes noise, which is becoming increasingly hard not to do. He's opening him up so slowly, and Peter can't even move his hips.

"Wade, c'mon, c'mon," he chants, voice pitching up higher the more desperate he gets, his dick straining against his suit. It's a sweet pressure, but not enough, especially with the tongue fucking into him. Wade shakes his head as he presses all the way in, and Peter sighs out a few expletives.

"What would Captain America say?" Wade says against his ass cheek when he pulls away, biting the skin playfully before going back to work. He slips a hand between Peter's crease, working his thumb in alongside his tongue.

He keeps this up for who knows how long, using his tongue and different fingers, until Peter feels tears sliding down the sides of his face underneath his mask, until every breath is a pitiful sob.

"Please, Wade, please," he begs, trembling against the strain of his muscles tensing for so long.

Wade must hear something in his voice, because he rips the suit open a bit more, dips his head lower, and sucks Peter's cock into his mouth.

Peter doesn't remain coherent for long, running his mouth without completing sentences. Wade is fucking good at this, at taking him in, at making him feel like he's dying, but in the best way.

"W-wade, I'm-- so close, I'm going to--," Peter babbles, and Wade hums around him. He slips his fingers back into him, curling them just right. Peter can feel every muscle in his body tensing, his breathing huffing out, and then the tension snaps and he makes a rough noise over and over as he cums for what feels like forever.

Wade swallows everything up, and releases him slowly, fingers slipping out of him. Peter tries to function like a human being underneath him, shuddering with aftershocks.

"I think my soul has left my body," Peter mumbles, and Wade laughs and then groans, rubbing his dick against Peter's abs. Peter tenses them, if only to make the surface better to get off on. It doesn't take very long before Wade is cumming, resting his forehead against Peter's ass.

They sit in silence for a few moments and Peter is about to say something when there's a cracking noise from above them, and light streams into the box.

"What the fuck?" Peter hears, and then Wade's springing into action. Peter lays there for a minute, truly conflicted, but he can't let Wade do all the work.

He's never shown his goods to so many people in his life.

 


End file.
